Why Am I Here

Inspirational song: I Wanna Rock (Twisted Sister)

I had a lovely morning today. After working so hard at the gym last night, my workout partner and I decided we would start the next morning in exactly the same manner. We met up for about 45 minutes of weight lifting, and then celebrated our good behavior by cleaning ourselves up, and driving down to the city for brunch at one of the restaurants that all the travel magazines swoon for. I haven't gone out to eat very often since the man went away, so it was a welcome change to tuck in to a nice fried green tomato BLT. For the first time in weeks, I was out in beautiful weather. The sun was bright, and there was a breeze coming in off the ocean, keeping the heat from being oppressive. We drove through an awful lot of sunshowers as well. (At least that's what I always called them. I was shocked to learn recently that in Mississippi, rain while the sun is shining is referred to as "the devil beating his wife." How disturbing.)

I noticed my attitude toward working out is evolving, as I'm becoming more determined. I was bordering on combative, as I pushed myself on the machines. I could hear all those negative things people have said, every "you can't do that, you'll hurt your back," and "you've been sick, you can let us do this" that ever chipped away at my pride or at my power. I kind of had what I think of as an Admiral Stockdale moment, echoing the moment in the 1992 vice presidential debate when the third party candidate so famously called out his own relative obscurity and suitability by asking, "Who am I? Why am I here?" Anytime one of the ridiculously fit people made eye contact with me, I made sure I looked back confidently. Who needed to be in that room more than I? I did see one of the ridiculously fit trainers smile when she heard me tell my workout partner that I rejected those negative voices, insisting the only way to get stronger is to get serious and work. 

I wasn't hyper-focused during the entire workout, I must admit. I drifted a little, looking out the big windows at the adorable little downtown where the Y is located. For a moment, I forgot where I was. All the red brick buildings could have been anywhere, including in my hometown. If it weren't for the palmetto trees, I might have thought I was back in Oklahoma. It's a hazard of moving as often as I do. I can't count how many times I have woken, and just before I open my eyes, I have absolutely no idea which bedroom I'm in, nor which house, in which state. I wonder what it's like for people who live in one town their whole lives. Stable, yes. But is it fulfilling? Is it comforting? What is it? And when that voice asked them, "what do you want to do with your life," how did they answer?

Tonight I have decided not to attend Fourth of July celebrations. I'm staying home with the animals, while all the neighbors set off noisemakers. I know I've made the right call. The only animal not in the room with me now is the deaf old man cat, and the rabble-rousing boy cat is already cowering under the rocking chair where he slept until five minutes ago. So I will conclude with a few photos from this morning, of the beautiful city on the peninsula, with palmettos at every turn. I love where I am.